


Stories skin deep

by Vofastudum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Drama, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Internal Conflict, Sad and Sweet, Second Chances, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27488824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vofastudum/pseuds/Vofastudum
Summary: Her soulmate.Her partner.Her equal.Her lover...A Death Eater.Unwilling probably, but a Death Eater.She knows nothing of him. Nothing, but what his scars tell her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 337





	1. Fate/Hermione

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the soulmates trope.  
> Song rec: Muse-I belong to you

She's standing in front of a mirror.  
Staring at her picture in between golden rims.

Soul scars

She'd read about them:  
Soulbond  
Ancient magic  
Meant to make sure the strongest magical genes meet  
Go beyond reason  
Extremely rare

Mark your soulmate  
Your equall  
Your partner  
Your lover...

Not to follow it will make you miserable  
Lacking  
Not able to fill your full magical potential  
Barren...

She remembers because she found the subject fascinating.

Because it was like a fairytale.

Someone who is made for you.

Someone your magic chose.

Who wouldn't dream about finding someone like that?

She remembers,  
because she had scars.  
Marks she had no idea where they had come from.  
Ever since she was a little girl.  
Her mother would ask her where the scratch on her cheek had come from.  
Looked at her disapprovingly when she had told her she had no idea.  
But the marks were so insignificant and healed so rapidly she had forgotten them completely.

Until she'd found the text about soul scars.

After that, after every new scar she had sat in her bed,  
wondering if someone was now staring at the newly appeared scars.  
If someone was afraid what was going on?  
If someone was thinking about her... Their soulmate, hurt.  
Did that someone know it was her?

Normal wounds leave normal scars.  
Scars that fade when the mark heals.  
Deeper wounds leave permanent scars, that fade over time.  
Scars you wouldn't see if you didn't know they're there.  
The worse the injury the more visible the scar.  
Just like on your own skin.

Dark curses leave different marks.  
Slashes and bruises that don't fade as days go by.  
They terrify her as they start to appear.  
Until fifth year her soulmate had been fairly safe.  
But then again,  
So had she.

It began over summer.  
She woke up in the middle of the night with a jolt.  
And when she went to the toilet there were bruises on her wrists.  
Scratches on her knees.  
A bruise on her neck.  
Fingerprints,  
like someone had strangled her.

Her soulmate...  
The person meant for her,  
Had been hurt.  
Tortured, if she had to guess.

After that night there were a few occasions she had to glamour the scars on her face.  
Once a visible handprint of a palm in black and blue on her cheek.  
Her heart ached when she looked in the mirror and saw it.  
Her soulmate did not have a good life.

Sometimes she looked at her classmates and wondered if it was one of them.

But her scars didn't match with anyone.  
She never saw anyone wear the scars she had hidden with glamour.  
Surely she'd notice...

It had gotten worse when fifth year had ended.

Her soulmate was not safe, that much was obvious.

The absolutely worst scars to find on her body, were the slashes of a dark curse.  
She was fairly sure it was cruciatus, because before the scar appeared, she felt the curse in her body.  
Like an electric jolt.  
And a halo of pain that wasn't her own.

When it went on she started to panic a little.

Her soulmate was cruciod frequently.  
And crucio was still an illegal spell.

What had happened to them?

Who could she tell?!

What would she tell them?

That someone was being tortured?

Someone she shared soul scars with...  
Someone was tortured with magic and hit by hard hands.  
Someone was on their knees on the ground, their wrists bound.  
Someone somewhere in the world.  
Someone who had a cut on their ankle, they've gotten when she was five...  
Someone who had a bite mark on their palm, so light you could barely see it.  
Someone who had long scratches, like claw marks, on their shoulder.  
Someone who wore dark bruiselike scars on their side, over the lungs.  
And behind their ear. Same as her... Scars from Dolohov's wand.

Someone who she knew nothing about.

Not their age  
Or nationality  
Or gender  
Or anything!  
Only that the person was made for her!  
And they were hurting!

Badly!

It was way too vague for her liking.  
So she hadn't told anyone.

Tonight as she stares at her image in the mirror she thinks she should have.  
Maybe there would have been something more she could have done!  
Because now it was too late!

She doesn't want to cry.

Doesn't want to fall on her knees to the floor.

She doesn't like the whimper that comes out of her.

She doesn't need the helplessness.  
The sorrow.  
The dread.

But they come anyway as she stares at the black and blue scar on her wrist.

A scar that burns even though it's not really hers.

A scar the shape of a skull and a snake...

.

.

.

The train whistles.  
They're going back Home!  
To Hogwarts.

After a while she realizes how hard it is to concentrate on Harry and Ron.

Hard to concentrate on a book.

Hard to concentrate in general.

"A Death Eater."

She snaps her head up at Harry's words. "What?"

The boys give her a funny look.

"Malfoy." Harry repeats.

She huffs, "Don't be silly Harry. He's underage, they'd never mark underaged."

"Did you see him? There's something definitely off."

She shakes her head and goes back to her book.

But her thoughts go to the scars on her chest.  
And the slashes on her back.  
To the circles around her wrists.  
And the dark mark on her arm.

Her soulmate.  
Her partner  
Her equal  
Her lover...

A Death Eater

Unwilling probably...but a Death Eater.

Then she thinks of of the sneer on Malfoy's face.

Filthy  
Undeserving  
Dirty  
Unworthy  
Mudblood

No

It's not him!

It can't be him!

.

.

.

Apples and spearmint

And fresh grass.

That's what her soulmate smells like.

She closes her eyes as the smell of Amortentia fills her senses.

Behind her eyelids the smell turns to colors.  
And the colors melt to sounds.  
She's standing in her private world, filled with smell and color and sound.  
She can almost taste the fresh apple.

Someone coughs.  
She opens her eyes, regains focus and tells Professor Slughorn what the potion is.

She's slicing the ingredients when her knife slips.  
She hisses and lifts her bleeding finger to see how bad she managed to cut herself.  
But as she lifts her gaze she she sees him.

Malfoy, ahead of her, two tables to her right, lifting his own finger.

The exact same finger she's holding up.

Fuck

Just to be sure she puts her finger in her mouth.  
In between her teeth.  
And bites down.

He flinches, still staring at his hand.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Ron asks from her left.

She has no idea what he's talking about.  
All her thoughts have flown out of the window.

"Hermione?" Ron looks a little worried now.

Malfoy's her soulmate.  
Malfoy who hates her.  
Malfoy who...

Who's a Death Eater.

Harry was right!

She lifts her hand to her wrist.  
To the spot where she's hiding his secrets.

She wants to scream.  
Or cry.  
Or throw up.

To run and never look at him again!  
Never think of him again!  
Never see these scars on her again!  
Never wonder if he knows...

If he even knows he has a soulmate?

If he knows it's her?

By now he hasn't even glanced at her direction.  
Surely he would have if he knew?

Ron on the other hand is still waiting for an answer.

"No, it's just a scratch." she tells him.

Turns back to her potion,  
And messes it up horribly.

When the class ends she rushes off.  
Closes the curtains around her bed and draws her knees to her chest.

She should have known!

There are claw marks on her shoulder!  
Claw marks, that have been there since their third year!

How could she have been so blind!?

But she didn't know about soul scars when she got them.  
Didn't even pay attention to them before they were already faded.

She did remember they had burned when they appeared.  
But she had more pressing matters in her mind then.

Now she thinks she should have been able to put it together before.  
It was obvious!  
Maybe she didn't want to see what was right in front of her.

That much for romanticizing the fact that she had a soulmate.

She used to think she was blessed  
But she had come to realize that in truth, she was cursed!

.

.

.

It only gets worse.  
All of it!

Harry gets worse

And Dumbledore

And the wizarding world

And Malfoy

By Christmas she thinks she's not going to be able to hold back much longer.

And still she tortures herself by standing in front of a mirror, staring at the new marks appearing every day.

He takes curses and hexes and hits.  
But them she'd withstand.  
It's what she thinks he does to himself that hurt her more.

Partly because they make her think she misjudged him.  
And, because she is a Gryffindor, a will to help nearly overpowers her.

But he'd never let her help.

So she sits on her bed at night, staring at her wrist as new scars form over the dark mark.

It's like he wishes to carve it off

First with bare hands,  
then with something sharper.  
Dragging them along the edges of the skull.

She wants to scream!  
To go to Harry and demand to know Malfoy's whereabouts from the map.  
Then go to him and...

What?

He'd kill her if he knew she knew all his secrets.

But he's made for her!  
How can she just let it be?

It's not like there are no problems in her life without this soulmate mess.

There are!

A lot!

And Ron is trying to suck Lavender's face of it seems.  
So he's no help.  
Plus Harry is trying to prove Malfoy is a death eater in a mission to kill Dumbledore.  
That's probably true.  
But somehow she still tries to get Harry to think of something else.

Then comes that night.  
That horrible evening she'd rather not have a memory off.

She's sitting in the common room with Ron, when it happens.

It's so sudden and so strong she cries out.  
Before Ron gets to ask what's wrong with her she's already running.

"I got to go!" she yells as she rushes up the stairs to the bathroom.

Bangs the door shut, falls on her knees on the floor and throws up.

It's like her body's on fire!  
There should be pain.  
But there's only fire.

So she drags herself infront of the mirror and strips off her blouse.

He's dead!

He must be!

No one can take a hit like that and survive.

The marks go from her shoulder blade all the way across her chest to her hip.  
Like someone has slashed her body half with a sword.

She wants to throw up again.

She has no idea what curse leaves a mark like that.

Suddenly it hits her: what if he's alone? Bleeding out somewhere in the castle?

Judging by the scar he has minutes, if he's still alive.

Minutes that tick away as she stands there starting at herself in the mirror.

What if she's the only one who knows?

In haste she throws a jumper on and rushes back down to the common room and out the portrait hole before anyone can ask where she's going.

She has no idea where she's going.  
But she's still running.

If he dies what happens to her?  
If he dies will she be only half there for her whole life?  
If he dies she'll never know what might have been!

She runs straight into Harry.

"Hermione?"

He's pale and shaking and covered in...blood.

"Oh my God Harry, what happened?"

"I...it was Malfoy. He... I used a spell from the book...it...he..."

That's all she needs to know.

"where is he Harry!?" She almost screams.

She knows she sounds desperate

And it's the weirdest thing to ask at a moment like that.

"Did you just leave him!?"

She takes his shoulder and shakes a little, willing him to understand this is about life and death.

"Snape, he got there... I think."

She's already going.

Harry yells after her but she doesn't care.  
Harry does not need her now.

But he might!

The hospital wing is empty,  
All but one bed.

She was so in haste to get here.  
Now she doesn't know how to approach him.

He lies there, wrapped in bandages,  
Eyes closed.  
Breathing.  
Alive.

She let's out a shaky breath and takes a step closer.

She can see his arms now. Free of bandages.

Stares at the lines,

the ones she knows so well,  
because they're hers.

Only hers.

He has hidden his own,  
But kept hers.

Why?

Does he know what they are?

Has he been searching for someone who's scars match his?

Like she did?

She takes a seat beside his bed.  
And then she stays. Sits there, next to him.  
Looking at his chest rising and falling as he breathes.  
Studying his solemn face.  
Resist on the urge to take his hand.  
Or to run her fingers along the lines under the glamours.

She has never been this close to him.  
Never looked at him like this.

There's beauty in his hard features.  
Grace she never saw.

A stray blond hair, hangs on his face.

Even In his sleep he looks tired.

Whatever she thought about her soulmate  
Whatever was running in her head when new scars appeared  
She never thought it would feel like this.

This hopeless.  
Crushing.  
And controversial.

She wants to yell at him.  
To demand answers  
And decency.  
To make him pay for all the bad things he'd said and done.

And at the same time somehow comfort him.

To put her arms around him and inhale the scent of apples and spearmint.  
To hug him close and tell him she'll help him get through this.

But she could never do that.

He'd never let her.  
He'd sneer at her and call her a mudblood.

... A mudblood his magic chose for him...

A mudblood who is the only one able to bear him children.  
A mudblood who's dirty blood is the only way the Malfoy line can carry on existing.  
A mudblood marked as his equal.

She sits by him until four in the morning.  
Then she gets up and leans to whisper in his ear.  
Breathing in his smell of apples and spearmint marred with a rusty smell of blood.

"Please stop hurting yourself. There's help, if you'd look for it."

Then she turns and leaves.

Doesn't see the dark grey eyes that follow her to the door.

.

.

.

She spends the next two weeks debating whether she should seek him out or not.  
Whether she should demand him answers.  
Whether she should try to find out if he knows she's his soulmate.

She's not sure if its finally fate that interferes, because an opportunity presents itself without her really looking for it.

Truthfully she's trying to avoid Mclaggen when she finds Draco entering the Room of Requirement.

Before the door behind him closes she has slipped in too.

The room seems to be a pile of rubble.  
A labyrinth of forgotten things.  
Endless corridors of stuff that might have meant something for someone once.

What was he doing here?  
What did he ask for to get this?

She stops in front of a big black cabinet.

It's standing alone,  
Like someone moved rubble away from around if.

Just by looking at it, she knows it's not a normal cabinet.  
There are carvings, like runes, drawn to it's sides.  
She doesn't recognize the marks.  
But before she gets to process it further, there's a wand pressed at her back.

"Make one move and it'll be your last." he hisses from behind her.

Shit she was careless!  
How had she forgotten he was here too?  
That he was the reason she came here!

"What are you doing here?"

He's whispering like someone would hear them.

No one will.

If he wants to hurt her, no one will hear her scream.  
But she's not scared of him.

"I followed you." she answers boldly and turns around before he gets to react.

This close he looks dangerous.  
Tired and spent and furious and a little crazy on top of everything.  
And the worst part is that she knows why.  
She kind of understands why.

His wand shakes a little.

"Why?"

She hasn't planned this through. Doesn't know how to approach him.  
Has no idea what he is doing and what he does to her if she now tells him what she knows.

So she says nothing.

Let him make the next move.

"Is this because of Potter? Or some of your personal attempts to clear your crown? Or did Dumbledore maybe send you?"

Maybe he has no idea about the link they share?  
Maybe she's nothing more to him than a too nosey know-it-all?

"I should kill you on the spot!" he growls, "No one would find you here."

She's not sure why still after threads like that, she feels like she has the upper hand.

Has no idea what courage makes her answer: "But you won't."

There's a hint of doubt in his eyes.  
That's all she needs to flick out her own wand and disarm him with a swift movement.

"You should work on your defense when you make threats like that."

She's not sure where this arrogance comes from.

"Fuck you."

"So, " she throws both wands further on the floor, "we should talk."

"Why would I want to talk to you?" He spits, "you filthy..."

"I wouldn't finish that if I were you."

He looks baffled.

"I don't have time for this game!" he twists his hands.

Acting all cool. But she sees his discomfort.

"Do you know what these are?" she shows him the scars on her hand.

Not the one with his dark mark, but the other.

He doesn't have to answer.

She sees it in his eyes when they lock with hers.  
She's not sure if he's ever looked at her like this.  
Just to look and not to insult.

So she rolls up the other sleeve too and shoves the dark mark in front of his face.

He takes two steps back, stumbling a little.  
Next time he looks at her his face is full of hate.  
And something that looks like desperation.

"Do you know what this is!?" She demands.

"I swear, I'll kill you." His voice comes out so small it sounds like pleading.

"You won't." she tells him again, "If you know what it means."

He snaps then.

Closes the distance between them and invades her space.

"Of course I fucking know Granger!" He now roars at her face.

"My skin is fucking covered with scars! Has been since I was a boy. I fucking know what it means! It doesn't mean I want to kill you any less!"

She straightens herself. "Then you know that if you kill me, you loose the chance for your magic to ever work right? If you kill me, you'll never be whole again. If you kill me you'll kill a part of yourself in the process."

She leans a little closer still. Making sure to emphasize every word.

"Then you know, that if I die the Malfoy line dies with me."

"Like it has any other hope!" His eyes are flaming.

"If there's life, there's hope."

She says it, even when she knows having children for the Malfoy line will be about the last thing she'd ever do!

Suddenly there's a shift in him.

His face twists, like there's a knife on his stomach that someone keeps twisting.

"I'll be dead anyway before the end of the summer." After he has spoken the words, she barely hears, he looks like his ready to run away.

"I know you weren't willing!" she blurts out.

Maybe to stop him.

In any other situation it would be almost funny how his emotions swing from desperate to blowing anger.

"Fuck you Granger!" He's now yelling again, "You know nothing of me!"

"Who knows you Draco?"

It's just a split second but she saw it anyway.  
Her question hit the mark.  
Moved something inside of him.

She knows continuing will probably make him want to leave again. But she can't stop now.

"Your parents? Does your father consider your feelings when he hits you in the face?"

His eyes flash.

"Does your mother know how many times they cruciod you before you were marked? Do Pansy or Zabini or Nott know how they tied your wrists and cursed you while you were on your knees on the ground? Do they know how your sektumsepra scar refuses to heal? Are your housemates who look up to you, a Death Eater, aware how desperately you wish to carve your mark off?"

"Shut up Granger."

His voice is shaking.

She doesn't have to wonder if he's angry. She knows he is.  
Probably far beyond furious.  
But she's not afraid of his anger.  
Never was  
Never will be.

"You think you know me because you share my scars? You think that the sob stories you've made up give you a right to think you know me?"

It's him who speaks.

But her who takes the steps to stand before him.

"No." she answers solemnly, "But I also think that all I thought I knew of you were wrong."

"I don't need your fucking pity."

"Is it pity you feel when you look at my scars on you?" she crooks her head a little.

This is a game she's going to win!

"I don't spend my days thinking about someone else's scars."

It's a lie.  
A poor lie.

"Is that why you've hidden your scars and left mine visible?" She presses, "Because you don't have time to think about someone else's scars?"

No answer

"How long have you known it's me?"

Still silence.

"I know you don't like me." She reaches for his arm like an impulse.  
But he jerks further before their hands make contact.

She lets her hand drop, "And I can't tell you my feelings for you are any different. But I know as well as you do that this is not a mistake in magic."

He opens his mouth to argue but she lifts her hand to silence him.

"This is something that goes beyond any of our understanding. Magic, centuries-old, designed to make sure magical blood survives strong, chose you for me... Or me for you, long before our free will had anything to do with it. There must be something we share more than scars. And I'm willing to see what it is. But..."

"So you're the one making the rules here?" The look on his face is not quite a smirk, but not a sneer either.

"I know nothing else of you, but that you do not want to be in the state you are. So please Draco,"

This time her attempt to touch his arm is successful.

She has never touched him before. Even when she sat by him in the hospital wing.  
She has slapped him once, but that was it.

And maybe she anticipated something?  
like a shock going through her, making her realize it's him she's been waiting for her whole life.

He raises his eyebrows at her plea, but nothing else magnificent happens.

"Let me help you!"

At that, he actually lets out a mirthless laugh, "You have no idea what I'm supposed to do. How do you think you could possibly help me!?"

"We could go to Dumbledore..."

"You think I haven't done that?"

She stops to stare at him.

"I told him everything. And he told me to go on like nothings different."

No, not Dumbledore.  
He wouldn't just dismiss a cry for help.

Surely he's lying.

She didn't realize she was shaking her head before she feels his breath on her face.  
He has leaned closer.

"Even Dumbledore can't help me. So stop Granger!"

He's so close she can feel his lips move.

"Stop following me. Stop thinking thinking about me. Stop analyzing your every scar like they're a story. Stop romanticizing the idea of a soulmate and accept the fact that you'll never find yours. I'm beyond saving, so leave and never look back!"

Then he's out the door.

Only then does she realize there are tears in her eyes.

.

.

.

Next time she sees him he's far beyond help.

And so is she.

They're standing in the entrance hall of the Malfoy Manor.

His face only inches from her, his father demanding him to recognize them.

His gaze holds hers.

And for a split second time pauses.

He looks at her like he can see right through.

Please

She begs in her mind.

Please you're the only hope.

But nowadays hope is like sand, slipping through her fingers.

.

.

.

She wakes up in the shell cottage.

Sits on her bed, staring at the word on her arm.  
Wondering if he's sitting in his room thinking about how he's going to hide this scar.

She'd heard him yell when the chandelier fell.  
Doesn't know what he did, but feels the bounds on her wrists, scratching the skin.

He might still be alive, but if they are taking him to Voldemort...

It doesn't take long for Harry and Ron to emerge.  
Embrace her and thank heavens they're all still alive!  
And Dobby for giving his life to save theirs.

"We've got Malfoy, " Harry tells her after a while.

She freezes.  
Turns to look at her best friend.

Does he know?

"He followed us here!" Harry elaborates, "Tried to tell us he doesn't want to be a death eater but refused to show us his mark."

"I'm sure he'll run back as soon as he gets a chance." Ron mutters.

But she has stood up, "Where is he?"

"In the cellar, Bill made sure the wards..."

She doesn't hear the rest of it.  
Because she's running.

Down the stairs, around the house.

He's sitting on the only stool in the dark room.  
Looking gloom.  
Scratches on his face, his white shirt little torn.

She stands before him.

He lifts his gaze and the expression on his face changes.

She's not sure what to make of it.

"Why are you here?"

He huffs, "Why are you?"

"It's not the question."

"You know why." There's venom in his voice.

Venom a prisoner does not afford to have.

"I don't think I do."

She lifts her chin, towering over him, like she still had the power.

He turns his tied hands on his lap.

The marks are still red, like burning.  
Ugly carvings over his dark mark.

Like hers.

MUDBLOOD

"I thought I was dying." He lifts his eyes at her.

There's pain now.

"So did I" she whispers, barely audible.

They stare at each other in the dark silence.

Probably that's the moment something between them changes.

"Why did you follow us?" she asks after a while.

He shakes his head.  
Gives her no answer.

"Did you..."

Dream about me?  
Because she did. Almost every night.

Think about me?  
Because she did. Sat on the bed and count the new scars.

Worry about me?  
Because she did. Every time she felt the burn of a curse.

But she doesn't finish the sentence.

"Do they all know?" he finally asks.

She shakes her head slightly, "I told no one."

She doesn't know why. Why she didn't tell anyone?  
And doesn't remember anymore why she thought that was the best thing to do.

"I wanted you safe." she finally whispers.

Knowing it sounds pathetic.

He laughs coldly, "How Gryffindor of you."

There's another long silence.

She has no idea how this will proceed.  
How do they go on?

She needs to carry on with Harry and Ron.  
But she can't just leave him here, can she?

"So what happens now?" she's not sure if he heard her.

He shrugs, "I never planned to survive this long. Maybe they'll let me rot here."

He leans his head back to stare at the dark ceiling.  
She studies him.  
And then suddenly she knows what she's going to do.

"Where would you go if I released you now?"

He shrugs, "I have nothing to go back to."

"If I let you go and show you a place to hide?"

"Why would you risk it?"

"You know why." she whispers.

For a moment he stays still, staring up.  
Then, like in slow motion turns to her.

"Never took you for a romantic idiot Granger."

"Don't tell me you've never wondered..."

She releases his arms from the bounds.

And now they stand face to face.  
She can smell him.  
And with that comes the memory of the music Amortentia made her hear. The colors it made her see.  
The words she has read about soul scars keep repeating in her head.

He is made for her.  
Chosen for her.

If she just ignores that, she'll live her whole life knowing she just gave up before she even tried.

Even if her whole life might be shorter than she'd like.

Actually not so many hours ago she had thought her life had already came to its end.

But she's alive.  
And he's here.

He followed them.  
Chose the unknown above Voldemort.

It must mean something!

So she takes his hand, the one with the dark mark ruined with her mudblood scar.

"Do you know how rare it is to share scars like this?"

He nods, only slightly.

"Let me save you. Just this once. And if we survive this war, we'll talk. Once, properly. Like two people who know nothing of each other. And then we can decide."

As she lifts her eyes to meet his it feels like she's seeing him for the first time.

He's lost  
And lonely.  
And so broken.

She has no idea how long he's been broken.  
How long he has already only half lived.

She knows the facade he kept up.  
But not the boy underneath.

She's still holding his arm.

And he lifts his hand to move a stray curl from her face.  
Letting the touch linger a moment longer that is necessary.

Suddenly she feels the connection between them.  
For the shortest flash she can see him, the real him, in his eyes.

Maybe it's that flash that makes him nod again.

"Fine, save me then."

After that she doesn't think if her decisions are wise.  
Only that she has this one chance.  
Gives him her wand, and sends him to her parent's house.

"I removed their memories of me, " she tells him in haste, "I think they've searched what there is to search. No one will be interested in an empty house in a muggle neighborhood. But ward it in case."

"What about your wand."

"I'll figure something out." She tells him.

And then it's time for a goodbye.

She doesn't know why it feels so hard to leave him now.

"Promise me you'll stay safe! Until we get to figure this out."

He just nods.

There's a lump in her throat.

"Go on then."

But he just stands there. Not moving.

"Please go, "

She closes her eyes.

Doesn't feel him leave,  
but closing the distance between them.

"I never thought you had this in you, "

He is way too close,

"Hermione." he whispers.

She's not sure if it's her who leans into him.

Their lips touch.

She feels him against her.

And the magic in her stirs.  
Like a match igniting a fire.

Suddenly she doesn't feel like it doesn't make sense for them to share this bond.  
When his lips meet hers it makes perfect sense.  
Like she was born to kiss him.

But as sudden as it starts it also ends.

He's gone.

And she's left to clean up the mess she made.  
And to fight a war she's not sure she'll survive.

.

.

.

Next time she sees him, he's standing on the porch of her childhood home.

It's mid May, a bright spring day.

She's coming home from the war.  
And he's waiting for her, like he promised to.

And now they'll have that talk.

And then...

And then, who knows...


	2. Duty/ Pansy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”Losers like me don't go with girls like you.” 
> 
> She steps back into his space ”Girls like me don't have losers as soulmates.”
> 
> Pansy/Neville

She jolts up from her bed.

Shit  
Fuck, shit, fuck  
What the hell was that fucking tosser doing!?

She throws her sheet aside and dashes to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror.

Flinches as a new bruiselike mark appears to her side in front of her eyes.

Fuck

Up until today her soulmate hadn't been the one for adventure.

The scars on her told her that he was clumsy and prone to accidents, yes.  
But mostly it wasn't anything too serious. Just scratches and bruises that healed rapidly.

She hadn't told anyone she had them.

No one, not even her best friends knew she had soul scars.

Someone somewhere was made for her.  
Someone who shared her scars.

Not that she had too many.

She had gotten barely any permanent scars in her life. And the ones she had were so small and insignificant you could miss them completely if you didn't know where to look for.   
Based on them only her soulmate had minimal chances on finding her.   
She would have to give him a hint, if she knew who he was.   
But up until tonight she had no idea.

When she had found out what her marks meant, she should have been ecstatic.   
But instead she was scared shitless.

What if someone found out?   
What if her parents found out her blood was so valuable some achient magic found her a soulmate?   
What would happen if they realized their dream of her giving a dozen children to carry on the Parkinson line was possible with just one person?  
What if they knew their grand plans to marry her to another high pure bloodline and gain influence by that, couldn't happen?   
And what about her classmates? The boys she had wrapped around her fingers. What if they knew they had no chance?

She'd loose all the assets she has.

So no.

Whatever was happening now,   
She still was not going to tell anyone.

Another mark appears with a spasm, like a shock of electricity.

She knows marks like that are from curses.   
She didn't tell anyone but she was not ignorant!   
She had read all there was to read about soul scars and soulmates.   
She knew what was going on!

Knowing didn't mean she had to act upon it.

But there's no hope she can sleep now.

And she hates how worried this new turn of events make her.

She doesn't like to be worried.   
She's the ice queen!   
Nothing can touch her!   
But her soulmate in danger, apparently.

Maybe staring in the fire will help her.  
So she goes down to the common room.   
Sits down on one of the armchairs.

”What woke you up?”

He's sitting in the darkest corner of the room.  
That's why she didn't notice him before.

The fact that he's here, when she wants to be alone, irritates her.

But he is her best friend.  
Probably her only true friend in the whole world.   
Besides Daphne.  
They've known each other since they were little.  
And he knows all her secrets.

All but this...

She shrugs, ”could ask you the same question?”

He says nothing.

Another shock makes her flinch.  
She tries to hide it with a cough.

He gets up and creeps closer.

She wants to tell him to fuck off,   
she can't deal with his problems now!

”Are you sick?” He leans closer.

Right in that moment she feels her nose crack.  
It doesn't actually hurt, but she reacts anyway,  
lifting her hand to her face.

A whimper escapes her lips.

But his attention isn't on her anymore.  
He's bent over, holding his ribs.

She recovers faster, but keeps staring at him.

Extremely rare, the book said.

Only a few reported cases in a hundred years or so.   
But what he's doing now looks exactly what she's going through.

Their eyes meet.

”Fuck Pansy, ” Draco whispers barely audible.

Fuck indeed

”Who is it?” He asks, still holding his side.

She thinks of lying.  
Of telling him some made-up name.   
Telling him he's not at Hogwarts.   
Her soulmate is some foreign wizard somewhere far away.  
And what they are now experiencing is just a coincidence.

But this is her best friend.  
If she was ever going to tell someone, it would have been him anyway.

So she shakes her head.

”I don't know.”

He cramps again,

”Fuck!” He jumps up, ”What the fuck they're doing!?”

He starts to pace back and forth.

”Who’s yours? They're... Unforgivable's. The slashes. I'm pretty sure its cruciatus. Maybe we should... I don't know, tell Snape or something.”

”What? What do we tell him Pansy!?”

He's angry but she doesn't think it's because of her.

He flinches again and swears under his breath.

”Do you know who yours is? Maybe we could, I don't know...help?”

”You sound like a fucking Gryffindor!” He almost growls, ”I can't Pansy! I don't know about you. But if anyone finds out mine, I'm doomed! And she... Even worse.”

He still walking, twisting his hands.

”Who is it!?” She demands now, ” It's your soulmate we’re talking about! Shouldn't you be proud you have one?”

”like you are?”

”You know it's different”

Having a soulmate will give him power he wouldn't have without.  
Having a soulmate will mean he's valuable. More valuable than just a pure blood heir.  
He will carry on the Malfoy line with someone magic chose for him.

Soulmates exist to keep magical bloodlines strong.   
He's going to be praised!

While she...

She’ll loose all the power she had.   
Her parents will loose all the power having a pureblood daughter gave them.   
She has been their most expensive trade value. Now she can't be traded.   
So what is she worth anymore?   
Yes their line will live on, but it'll have someone else's name, and they will not get paid for it.

It's all about power, wealth and legacy.   
Bloodlines and business contracts.  
That's the world they’ve been born into.  
The world they understand.

Draco struggles with his step again.

At least he knows who his soulmate is. But for some reason, he refuses to tell her.

She feels...helpless!  
And Helplessness does not suit her.

Cunning  
Ambitious  
Resourceful  
Never helpless!

Somehow the same helplessness that she feels radiates from Draco too.  
He knows as she does, that they should do something!

Knows that this,   
these curses they witness,  
are not a product of some friendly sparring.

This is serious.

Especially for their soulmates out there.  
Fighting for their lives it seems.

They, her and Draco, don't even know what fighting for their lives means.   
They've never had to fight like that...

She turns to look at her friend with wide eyes.

Fuck, it was obvious!   
How come it took her so long to understand!?

”It’s Granger, isn't it?”

He stops mid-step.

She sees him inhale but he doesn't look at her.

Shit

Fucking buggering hell!

”Isn’t it!?” she presses on.

He's shaking his head, ”Shut up Pansy!”

”Why? You know it's her, don't you?”

He moves so fast she has time to only blink.  
And then his face is inches from hers and he's hissing, ”I said Shut the fuck up! Anyone might hear us!”

She opens her mouth to retort back.

That's when she feels it.

Cruciatus

On her body.

She's never been tortured.  
But she has seen what happens when it's used.  
And she knows that this halo she feels  
Is just that.

Two times.

She sits still,

Waiting for another.

That's how they stay.  
Her, on the armchair,  
And him pacing restlessly.  
Waiting for another hit.

It's three in the morning when she thinks it's safe to assume they made it out alive.

Supposedly  
Supposedly she’d know if her soulmate had died.

Draco sits down too.

”Don’t tell me it's Potter.”

She huffs, ”I’m not fucking stupid! Don't you think I would have noticed an ugly, but oddly familiar scar on my face!?”

”Weasley?”

She shakes her head, ”Ruled him out ages ago.”

Silence follows her words.

”No idea who might hang out with them.”

The answer comes next morning.

Draco receives a letter, telling his father is in Azkaban.   
She barely hears him.   
Because there are three boys missing from the Gryffindor table:   
Potter, Weasley

And

Neville Longbottom.

.

.

.

They used to be safe.

There was a war coming, she knew that.   
But they were just teens,  
it wasn't going to be their war.

Lucius had assured them the summer before:  
Voldemort was coming and there was going to be a war.  
But it was nothing they should be worried about.

”When you turn seventeen, the fight is already over and the world will be ruled by those rightfully fit.”

It meant purebloods.

But now as she sits in the rose garden behind the Malfoy Manor.  
Holding shaking Draco.  
She knows they lied.

There was no way they could stay out of this war.  
And the war would ruin them.  
Draco was already pulled in.  
And it was already killing him!

”She’ll know.” He whispers against her.

She doesn't say a word.  
But secretly she's pleased.

On his own he would never search for help.

But if Granger figures it out.  
If Granger is as smart as she is supposed to be.  
If Granger is as valiant as she pretends to be.  
If Granger is anything like the house she is sorted to states.   
She will not let it drop.  
She will not ignore the fact that she has a soulmate.  
A soulmate in danger.   
She will try to somehow save him.

And he won't be pleased with that.  
He will not accept it lightly.   
But he will bend.

Because Granger is his soulmate.

Somehow it gives her hope, knowing that there's someone who can still help him.

Without Granger, she doesn't think he has much hope,

.

.

.

Navigating in a world where Voldemort is rising, is different than what she's used to.   
Darker than she thought it would be.

The darkness crept upon them that summer.  
The darkness the whispers brought to their tables.  
The darkness that swallowed Draco.  
And made her other friends lock into their manors.

Ever since she was a little girl she’d been told how their Lord will return and the world will see the value of their pure blood again. The respect they deserve will return.

Well, that was bullshit!

She listens in the shadows as her parents talk about her.  
Like she was a thing rather than a person.  
She knew she was their trade value.  
But hearing them talk about it.  
Hearing them decide her future without asking what she thought about it,  
It clarified the fact that her opinions meant nothing.

There were times she dreamed she’d marry Draco.  
And maybe that might have been in consideration once.

But with years, her dreams had turned into a hope that her parents would at least choose someone close to her age!   
Based on what she hears now, it's a false hope.

She's not going to get to marry one of her classmates.  
She's going to be traded to someone high ranking.

Dolohov

Roquefort

Yaxley

Leatrange

She wants to throw up.

Those men are double her age.  
Those men,  
that stare at her ass in the pureblood events.

She's fifteen, you perves!

Wealthy households  
No wives  
No offspring  
No too close kinship.

She shivers in her hiding place.

The most twisted part of it all,  
Is that once upon a time,  
Without these scars on her skin,  
Without the knowledge there's someone meant for her,  
She'd accept this.  
Without blinking an eye.  
She'd be proud even.  
There'd be no room for thinking that the partner they chose for her is gross.  
And too old.

When she turns sixteen her parents invite Yaxley to dinner.

They don't tell her why.

But she knows.

Puts on a dress, too revealing for a formal dinner.  
And smiles flirtatiously at him across the table.

He smiles back at her and licks his lips.

Oh you wish, sucker!

.

.

.

Sixth year goes by in a blur.

Draco doesn't let anyone help him.  
But gets darker and darker each day.

The Slytherins are more outcast than ever.   
And the darkness hangs around them like a curtain.

For the first time she studies Longbottom.  
Looks at him to see something more than a chubby Gryffindor loser.

He's good at herbology.  
And she finds if fascinating how he looks at the plants like they were living things.  
The grace in his clumsy hands as he treats them.

There's compassion in him she has never seen on anyone before.  
She's not even sure his classmates see the small acts of kindness he does for them.   
Picks up fallen pens.  
Hisses them the right page in class.  
Gives his gloves to a girl who had forgotten hers.  
Opens doors and warns about trick steps...When he doesn't fall into them himself.

She's used to sneers and venomous, doubtful looks directed to her and her classmates.  
But never from him.  
His eyes somehow lack negative emotions towards others.   
She also realizes he has grown some shield against negative words too.  
Because people do mock him.

A lot.

Even other Gryffindors.   
They mask it as humor.   
But she's not sure it is.  
He doesn't seem to mind.  
Shrugs his shoulders and carries on.

She doesn't like how angry it makes her.

Hasn't she done her fair share of bullying? And mocking and making fun of people.

Well yes...  
But never her friends!   
It was the unspoken rule of Slytherin: to stand united.

It's almost funny how she now feels like she should be there, beside him.   
To show that she's on his side.

Is she though?

Would he ever accept her there?

They've really been only enemies as far as he knows.

She has only ever been one of the worst people talking him down.

And yes, he does seem like a loser!  
But she has no doubt with the right teacher...

Besides there has to be more to him!

He has soul scars,   
only that fact alone sets him apart.  
Only that is prove enough, that beneath his loser appearance hide exceptional magical abilities.

.

.

.

”She knows.”

Draco lays on the sofa, his shirt open.

She's helping him change the bandages on the horrible scar on his chest.  
Does her best on hiding her shaking hands.

Draco didn't tell her how Potter even managed a scar like that.   
It's like he'd had a sword.

The scar refuses to heal like a normal scar.  
It's been a week and it doesn't seem to get any better.  
Draco refuses to go back to the hospital wing and mostly stays in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

She turns to look at him now.

”Granger?”

He nods only slightly, ”She was there, in the hospital wing, the night it happened.”

She waits for him to continue.

He doesn't.

”And?”

He shrugs, ”I pretended to be asleep.”

Of course he did.

She rolls her eyes.

”She just sat there, by my bed for hours.”

The sappy romantic little girl inside her swoons.

But this is more a tragedy than a romance.

Silence falls upon them.

Two days later he goes to Dumbledore.   
But if they thought that would lift even some of the weight on him,   
it doesn't.

She's there as he breaks down.   
Stands by in the room of requirement as he throws things around.  
Twists wood in his hands.  
Smashes glass objects to the walls.

There's nothing she can do.  
Or if there is, she doesn't know what it is.

It's like he's beyond help.  
And he knows it himself too.

But as the school year ends it doesn't matter anymore.

Dumbledore is dead.

And the world they knew has ended.

She should be pleased.

They're on the winning side.

But truthfully she's scared.

She’ll go home and turn seventeen.  
And they'll probably engage her with Yaxley as soon as possible.  
She has no idea where Draco is.  
Daphne is talking about her family going to America for summer.  
She hopes she could go with them.

But no...

She goes home.

All summer she dreams of Neville.

Travels her fingers along his scar lines on her and wonders.

What if she told him?  
What would he think?

What if she wrote him?  
What would he reply?

What if she...carved it to her skin?

But she doesn't.

The pureblood rule takes over the ministry.  
Yaxley visits daily.  
Voldemort makes him the head of magical law enforcement.  
Her parents beam.

She puts on open summer dresses with too short hems.   
Giggles at his stupid jokes.  
Waves her hips as she walks.   
And feels his eyes on her.

Then, when he's softened enough.   
She asks him about what's happening in the ministry.   
Nods enthusiastically and travels her fingers lightly on his arm as he speaks.  
He tells her gladly.  
Boasts around and reveals plans that are not in the open yet.

Men believe they hold the power.  
But as she writes down what he told her, she's quite sure it's an illusion.

The information she gets, she sends to Neville.  
Doesn't sign the letters, but hopes he takes it forward.

She's still not sure what she thinks of muggle borns.  
But a world where Voldemort rules,   
And she's Mrs. Yaxley,  
Is not a world she wants to live in.

At her seventeenth birthday Yaxley comes with a ring.

She knew he would.

She smiles politely and admires the ring.

And it is a grand ring!   
Once she’d show it around.   
Now she hides it in her trunk the minute Hogwarts train leaves the station.

.

.

.

Draco's worried.  
He doesn't say it of course.  
But she has known him since he was a child.  
She knows him!

He's worried.

And more than a little helpless too.

Granger's gone along with Potter and Weasley.   
And he can do nothing for her.

Draco's not her only problem.

Neville seems to think he has to take Potter’s place as the hero in charge.

And in this new Hogwarts order it means getting tortured for everyone else.  
And taking all sorts of other punishments the Carrows come up with.

She can't go anywhere without strong glamours! It seems he doesn't even bother to get his scars healed before new set appears. 

Maybe that's the reason she finally confronts him.

It does take effort to find him alone, and when she finally does the nearest hiding place is a broom closet.

She shoves him in.

It's quite impressive how fast he's gotten, because immediately there's a wand pointed in between her eyes.

”Jeez Longbottom, I'm not going to assault you, ” she rolls her eyes.

He hesitates but doesn't let the wand fall.

Was he always this tall?

She has never seen him this close.

Growing up seems to have done him justice.   
He used to be a chubby tosser.   
But now he's tall and well built.  
His round cheeks have flattened and jawline manned up.

If she had to she’d describe him hot.

Thank God!   
Saves her an awful lot of trouble...

If this ever was going to be anything in the first place!

”Put the wand down.”

He shakes his head, ”Not before you tell me why are we here?”

”Nice brooms in here, don't you think?”

She should be nicer. But guess bitchy is her way of even staying sane.

”I don't really have time to joke around.”He must be annoyed, but even now his tone is nice.

Right, like she didn't have other things to do than stand in the broom closet with him.

”Could you heal your face?” She blurts out.

He furrows his bows, but does lower his wand a little.

”I understand the scars make you look all tough and whatever, ” the bitch in her wants to come out again.

She sighs and lifts the glamour on her face, ”But I really don't have time to do the glamours on me each morning.”

He's gaping at her.

There's no way he doesn't get what it means. The scar under her left eye and the mark on her hairline,he must know they're same as his.

If he even looks at himself in the mirror.

”Did you know?” She asks, keeping her tone emotionless.

”I...” He stumbles with his words

”Or did you ever even realize anything was off with your scars?”

His silence irritates her.   
Because It makes her second guess her decision to confront him.

”I knew.” He finally manages.

His answer actually surprises her.

”That it was me?”

”No! Not that. But what they are...about...about what they might mean.”

He pauses and then mutters, ”I thought it was maybe a mistake.”

”Why?”

He looks down at his toes, ”I asked Granny about soul scars a few years back. She told me it's for the most powerful bloodlines. That the strongest of magic chooses a soulmate. And I'm not that strong...”

So he has low self-esteem.  
At least it's easier to work with than arrogance.

”Well, apparently it wasn't a mistake and you're stronger than you think.” She states, matter of factly.

Suddenly he snaps his eyes back at her.  
Even in the low light of the closet she can see they're blue.

”Bugger, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize...I’m sorry.”

She doesn't know what he's so sorry for suddenly.

So she throws him a questioning look.

”All the scars! And bruises... I never minded them! There used to be so many I didn't even ask anyone to heal them. I didn't think it could bother someone else. I...”

He apologizes for not realizing his scars ruin her skin?   
She's called him names and talked shit behind his back.   
Laughed at his misfortune in potions.   
And the first thing he's worried about, is that she has somehow suffered?

How come is he a Gryffindor and not a Hufflepuff?

And how can someone this kind be a soulmate for a bitch like her?

She waves her hand, ”That’s past already. Let's take care of these we can still see, shall we?”

He nods multiple times, ”Sure, sure. I'll ask Ginny as soon as I get back to the tower.”

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes again.

”Might as well do it now.”

He almost takes a step back when she pulls out her wand, but hesitates last second.

”Despite the popular belief, I don't enjoy hurting myself.” She takes a step closer.

”I hadn't heard about that.”

The eyeroll comes anyway, ”It was a joke.”

”Oh...”

She's so close she could count his eyelashes.

Never realized Longbottom has such thick eyelashes...

Their eyes meet.

She heals his scars with soft movements.  
She never knew she was even capable of softness like that.

His eyes don't leave hers the whole time.

.

.

.

She never needed anyone to save her.

She never dreamed of a hero.

She wanted to be worshipped, not saved.

She could very well save herself, thank you very much!

She could save herself,   
but she isn't a hero herself either.

And she shouldn't try!   
Because it'll not end pretty.

She knew it in advance.

And still she steps in between Grabbe and a second-year Hufflepuff he was going to curse as punishment.

”Go pick on someone your size Vince, ” she tells him lightly.

Some other year, ages ago, she had power over them, The boys on her year.   
But today it was a mistake to trust that power still existed.

”No, he broke the rules. It's my duty to punish him.” the boy answers proudly.

Proud to torture children.  
Pathetic.

”Fine, I’m a prefect, let me take care of it.” she swishes her hand to tell him off.

But the stupid oaf won't budge.

”No, it's my job. Move Pans.”

She doesn't.  
Knows it's stupid.   
And still stays where she is.

”Move or I'll make you.”

She gives him a cold smile, ”Go on then Vince, I dare you.”

She lifts her jaw and hisses, ”make me.”

Only when the spell hits her, does she realize she shouldn't have played a hero.

But also she never thought he'd actually curse her.

Fire

That's how it feels.  
Like burned alive from the inside.   
Agony she never felt before, burning her up.

She screams.

And then it stops.

She's on the floor, eyes closed.

What if he's going to curse her again if she gets up?

”Pansy.”

There's a warm hand on her shoulder.

Fuck

She opens her eyes to meet a pair of worried blue ones studying her.

”Are you okay?” Neville asks helping her up.

Grabbe lies on the floor where she last saw him stand.   
Probably stunned.

Fuck

Shit

Fuck  
Fucking Gryffindor hero complex.

He's going to be in so much trouble now!

Not that he seems to be thinking about it at all.

”I saw what you did.”

Yeah blabla...screw the sentiments.

”You need to go.” she gives him a little push.

Offense flashes in his eyes.

She’ll have to explain later. Now she needs to get him to leave before they find him here.

”GO! Before someone comes and realizes what you did!” She shoves him again.

”What about you?”

”Nothing what they do to me is half of what they'll do if they find you here! Go!”

He does go.  
Lucky he's so nice...

She seeks him out later.

”I don't need you to save me.”

He doesn't answer, just looks at her with a serious face.

”I can take care of myself! I don't need you to barge in like a fucking knight.”

”I didn't...”

”I don't want you to get yourself in trouble to save me.”

She didn't mean to say it out loud.

”You’re enough in trouble as it is. Don't waste your time on me.”

Has he moved?   
She thinks he's closer than he was a minute ago.

This is not her ground.

She's used to be the one in control.  
The one to make the move and watch men struggle.  
She knows how to initiate lust.  
How to position and move herself to twist them around her finger.   
How to flirt and tease and then leave them with nothing.   
And to do it in a way they think they're the one to hold the power.

But she has no idea how to proceed with his sincere presence.  
How to guide those shining blue eyes.  
How to lead on someone who doesn't want the power.

And she hates the way his proximity disables her.

”What did you do to Grabbe?” he asks.

She crooks her head, ”Woke him up. Made sure he didn't remember you there. Threatened to tell everyone how he couldn't even cast an unforgivable...”

He studies her with a serious look.

Whatever she thought he was going to say was not what comes out next.

”My parents were tortured to insanity. They're at Mungos. Don't recognize me. Or anyone. Besides I think possibly each other.” his voice fades a little, ”I... I don't like to watch people getting tortured. And when I saw it was you...”

And she thought getting married of to someone she didn't love was bad?  
She thought her life was hard?  
Suddenly she realized she didn't really know anything about hardship.

How much pain has cracked his soul?

How can he still be so pure and selfless?

He leans closer, making her short of breath.

She doesn't think it's intentional.

”I thought you're evil Pansy.”

Why do these words that sound like an insult, make her shiver?

She lifts her eyes to bore into his, ”Maybe I'm”

He only looks at her.

”But I'm also your partner. Your equal.”

That's what the book said.

Why were they tiptoeing around?

What the hell, she might as well make the most of it.  
Might as well do what she knows how to do.

So she leans close to him.

Puts her cheek against his and whispers to his ear,  
So close she knows he feels her lips move.

”Oh, the things I could teach you.”

He takes a sharp breath.

Dear boy, you have no idea who you're dealing with.

She graces her hand, air-light across his arm.  
And takes his hand in hers.  
Leans further to put them face to face.   
And guides his finger to caress the side of her face.

”I could show you...”

His finger along her jaw,

”How a girl wants to be treated...”

Down her neck and along the line of her clavicle.

He swallows hard.

She holds his eyes.

”held...”

She lifts his finger to her lips.

”touched, ”

Puts the digit in her mouth and sucks.

That seems to crack something in him, because suddenly he jerks further.

She smirks.

”What are you playing at?” He almost manages to sound angry.

But his cheeks are pink.  
His eyes darkened.  
And his voice trembles.  
Just a hint.  
But enough to tell her how flustered he is.

”Can you really say you don't like this game?”

She never was the one to give in.

”I...”

It's kind of adorable how clueless he is, when it comes to girls.

So she gives him a smile.   
Not a soft inviting kind, some nice girl would give.  
But a daring, teasing, flirtatious one.

His shoulders slump.

”Look at you! You're...” he maneuvers his hands at her, ”all that!”

”And then look at me.” He does the same maneuvers to his direction, ”I have no idea what I'm supposed to think about this. Let alone what I'm supposed to do.”

She lifts an eyebrow.

”Losers like me don't go with girls like you.”

She steps back into his space ”Girls like me don't have losers as soulmates.”

”I’ve never even kissed a girl.” He blurts.

She actually lets out a laugh, ”Don’t worry, I have a fair idea how it's done.”

Her lips are already almost on his when he still hesitates, ”You don't really have to kiss me if you don't want to...”

”Neville,” She cuts him off, ”shut the fuck up!”

And then she kisses him.

.

.

.

It doesn't even get to begin before it has to end.  
War is not a place for relationship building.

Neville has to go into hiding.  
Draco doesn't come back from the easter break.  
Daphne's family leaves for America.

Suddenly she's alone.

All alone,  
And more scared she’d like to be.

She doesn't like to lose control.  
Hates that she has to be so concerned.  
And despises the idea she can do nothing but sit and wait.

But finally, after what feels like ages, there are suddenly words on her palm.

She stares at them.

_Fight, tonight!_

Pretty ballsy to write it with scars to make sure she gets the message.   
The words fade in minutes, but she understands what they mean.

The final showdown is here.   
Tonight’s the night that defines their future.

She could stay there, on the Slytherin common room and wait for the storm to pass.   
Maybe if Draco was here, they'd decide together that it's the wisest move.

But no ones here.  
And it's not a decision she’ll make on her own.

So she goes out to look for him.

She's not sure how it works.   
If there's some sort of sixth sense that tells you your soulmate is looking for you.   
Because she finds him so easy it can't be random.

”Pansy, ”

He's out of breath.  
In haste   
And probably scared   
But also excited.

”Why are you here? Didn't you get my message?”

Cunning  
Ambitious  
Resourceful

Not reckless  
Not brave  
Not valiant

But yet she's still here, telling him: ”I did. What do I do?”

He looks at her weird, ”What do you mean? Hide! ”

”While you fight?”

”Yes, obviously.” he twists his hands a little.

She could sense he's in a hurry.   
That doesn't stop her,

”No.”

He blinks.

”You need your whole potential when you fight! And the book said we need each other to reach it. So what do I have to do?”

He's still staring.

”Don’t get me wrong, I don't want to fight.” she elaborates, ”but I can't let you on the battlefield with half force. So if you need me by your side, that's where I’ll be.”

Now he's shaking his head.

”Or maybe we need to consummate our relationship?” she hadn't thought of that before.

he turns red, ”That's...no. I need to go! Like now! Harry's here and...”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, ”Oh Potter, always in such a hurry! Couldn't they give you like two hours in advance? Send a letter or something?”

She throws her hands in the air, ”Dear Neville, time to fight in two hours. Please go fuck your soulmate to reach your full power on battlefield. Sincerely, Scarhead and CO.”

”This is not a joke Pansy! This is a real war!” Suddenly he's angrier she's ever seen him.

Right, not a time to joke around!

”I know! So tell me what do I do!” she's almost yelling too.

”Hide! Go back to your dorm and stay there.”

”No”

”Yes!”

It's kind of fascinating how there's suddenly such authority in his voice.  
How he towers over her and puts his large hand on her shoulder.  
She almost wants to obey.

”You’re more in danger out in the open. I can't protect you there.”

”I don't need you to protect me!”

”Have you ever fought Pansy?”

That's unfair! Of course she hasn't!

”Please.” He whispers

His eyes are so blue  
And his words so sincere.

But what if he dies?  
What if she's left in a world where Voldemort rules, soulmatelessly?   
What if she loses him, before she had him, knowing she could have done something more?

”Pansy, ”  
Both his hands are on her shoulders now, and she just can't say no.

Slowly she closes her eyes and nods.

His lips brush hers only lightly as he whispers; ”see you on the other side.”

And then he's gone.

”Of what?”

Her question bounces from empty walls

And as she walks back to the dungeons, she wipes a lonely tear from her face.

Ice queens don't cry.

.

.

.

Next time she sees him there's an open scar on her cheek.

And on the back of her head.

Slashes of curses on her chest.  
And a bite mark of a snake on her left hand.

He's standing on the Slytherin portrait hole covered in dust and blood.

A giant sword in his hand.

A crooked exhausted smile on his face.

”He’s gone. We won, ”

And for the first time in her life she doesn't care what other people think.  
Doesn't give two shits about the stares of her housemates on her back as she flies to his arms.

He catches her without hesitation.


	3. Magic/Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Fourth year he finds her.
> 
> Even if he doesn't want to admit it.  
> Even when it flips all his plans and ideas around.  
> Even when it makes his head spin and thoughts run wild.  
> Even when it disorganizes his organized mind.  
> Even if it makes him angry  
> And fearful  
> And...lost.
> 
> Draco/Hermione

The First year there’s a split on his lip after Halloween.  
It’s not his.

He asks his godfather is it possible to have someone elses scars.  
Severus looks at him,  
Long and calculating,  
before telling him it's not impossible.  
But that it's also so rare Draco might just be imagining things.  
And even if it were true, he shouldn't tell anyone else.

”Your strongest assets are your biggest weaknesses, remember that Draco.”

He didn't really understand it then.  
But he did find a text about soul scars.  
And he did understand why it might not be wise to share that information with just anyone.

Finding out also made him proud.  
Later he thinks it might not have done him any good to find out so early.  
Didn't improve his character to be told that having a soulmate made you exceptional.  
Especially since he already thought himself exceptional.

.  
.  
.

The Second year he feels oddly cold.  
A chill he's not able to get rid of.  
No matter how close he sits by the fire in the common room.  
No matter how many layers of clothes he puts on.  
No matter the spring slowly creeping close.  
There's this unsettling freeze in his bones that makes it hard to concentrate.  
To study  
To fly  
To anything.

As he walks past the hospital wing where the petrified lie, it crosses his mind that it's almost like he's half petrified too.  
Like someone had tried to petrify him, but only half succeeded.  
Was it possible?  
What if his pureblood kept him only half safe?  
The thought makes him a little scared.  
But there's no one he trusts enough to tell about his worries.

So he lies in his bed under three blankets and still shivers.  
Wishing he could do a warming charm that'd keep him warm.

In the night he dreams of Granger, lying petrified in a hospital bed, eyes open but seeing nothing.  
.  
.  
.

The third year he's pretty positive his soulmate might know they're carrying soul scars.  
There's no way you could miss the marks that godawful Hippogriff leaves on him.

He does the best he can to parade around making everyone know he's wounded.  
Maybe his girl will emerge.

He was already sure it wasn't anyone in Slytherin.

The thought made him uneasy.  
There were only handfull of pureblooded girls in other houses.  
And if his soulmate was in some other school...  
It might take years to find her!

His parents wouldn't be pleased with that.  
They had already started talking about marriage contracts and possible girls suited for the Malfoy line.  
Not for him.  
For the line.

Pressure  
Ever since he was old enough to understand how the world worked, the weight of the legacy rested on his shoulders.  
Legacy of two ancient family lines, as pure as pure could get.  
He had been brought up to carry those lines.  
To keep them flourishing.  
To bring honor.  
To make sure the legacy will live on.

Having a soulmate meant he was not only fit to breed magically strong children, but also assigned with someone equally capable.  
Equally skilled.  
If he wanted to fulfill his duty, he needed to find her!  
The sooner the better!  
Because if he didn't, all he was worth would turn to ashes.  
Without his soulmate he wasn't worth anything to anyone.

But he was only thirteen.  
And a thirteen-year-old boys tend to have other things in mind than soulmates.

For example how to make fun of Potter and his band of losers.  
Or how to not make himself a fool in the quidditch pitch.  
How to gain more influence among his classmates.  
How to explore girl anatomy with Pansy Parkinson.

Who's definitely not his soulmate.  
But a good practice nevertheless.

.  
.  
.

On the Fourth year he finds her.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it.  
Even when it flips all his plans and ideas around.  
Even when it makes his head spin and thoughts run wild.  
Even when it disorganizes his organized mind.  
Even if it makes him angry  
And fearful  
And...lost.

His hex wasn't really meant for her.  
But as it hits her face, he almost drops his wand.  
Because even when it's only her teeth, that start to grow,  
He feels it too.  
The stretch in his jaws and the pressure on his mouth.  
Almost like he had hexed himself.

His soulmate  
His equal  
Someone exceptional  
Strong  
Rare

Someone to make sure magic stays strong.

The girl he's been looking for.  
The girl meant to be his.  
Chosen for him,  
For magic.

He was so sure his soulmate would be a pureblood he never even considered the option.

Never thought he'd have to be the one to tell his parents:  
either way their only son is going to be the end of the purity of their lines.

He looks at Hermione Granger,

A mudblood

Exceptional  
Strong

His...

And he hates her.

Hates her more than ever before.

And himself.

And the magic that never before failed him so completely!

.  
.  
.

He dreams of her.

Tries so hard not to!

Not to even think of her

Not to think what will happen when his parents pick him a spouse,  
That'll never get pregnant.

Then he dreams of Granger coming down the steps at the manor,  
like she did in the stairway in the Yule Ball.  
Glowing

Granger in his mother's rose garden smiling brilliantly at him.

Granger's pink lips, just inches from his.

He hates her!

And he doesn't.

But he's supposed to.  
She's everything he was taught to hate.

He looks at her

And sees nothing similar to himself.

Briefly, he thinks it was a mistake.  
That it's not really her.  
That he imagined it all along.

And then she's in his dreams again.  
Reading a book in the library, biting her lower lip.

He wakes up covered in sweat.  
Painfully aroused.

.  
.  
.

Darkness creeps closer.

He can see it in his mother's demeanor when he visits home.  
He can hear it in the whispers of the paintings of his ancestors.

Suddenly the wide manor he once found so exciting and welcoming feels cold and wrong.  
Like it's not the home he knew anymore.

”I can't take another war, Lucius.”  
He hears his mother whispering to father as he eavesdrops behind the door of her study.

He doubts anyone ever told him the real story of the last war.

They had been on the losing side.  
And his mother...  
She had lost her parents.  
Her inlaws.  
Her cousins.  
Both of her sisters. The other to the light and the other to the darkness.  
And almost her husband too.

The tales of war are not written by the ones on the losing side.

But somehow they had come through.  
Somehow they had kept their places in the society.  
Somehow the value of their traditions had not died.

But he does believe what she says is true.

That night, in that dark corridor of his home, that doesn't feel like his home anymore,  
he makes a vow to himself.

A vow to keep his mother safe.  
No matter what.

He’s her only son.  
Her only heir.

It's his duty to protect the family.

To protect his mother.

And his...  
The girl,  
fated for him to protect, too.

So until his last breath  
He would keep them safe.

For now, Mother is safe at the manor.

And as for Her...  
As long as no one knew he had a soulmate, there’d be nothing to worry.  
The best way to keep her safe,  
was to never tell a soul who she is to him.

He starts to learn occlumency the minute he gets back to school.

But it all gets too real way too soon.

Of course it does! She's friends with Potter and Weasley.  
And she's a fucking Gryffindor!

He doesn't remember ever being so scared for another person  
than he is in the night spent in the common room just waiting for another halo of a curse.  
Another whip of torture.  
Another echo of a bone breaking.

Another sign she's still fighting,  
That she's still alive.

Because even if he despises the idea of her as his soulmate,  
He fears losing her more.  
Losing her,  
before she was even his to loose.

Pansy comes down with her own problems.  
With her own soul scars to worry about.  
And he's not sure if he's relieved to find she shares his secret.  
Or disappointed he wasn't that exceptional after all.

Somehow the idea of his own private torture appealed him.  
Somehow the idea that no one could know what he went through, gave him power.

But as the summer comes, those thoughts vanish.  
Because the summer finally shows him what it’s really like in the dark side.  
And he wouldn't survive it without Pansy by his side.

.  
.  
.

He's not a hero.  
He'll never even try.

But he's not a villain either it seems.

Because no matter how they pressure him.  
How they use their methods of ”hardening him up”.  
How his father disciplines him about not being able to hold the family name.

He's still defense.

His mother told him once, that there are two kinds of wizards: the offense and the defence.  
His defense has always been strong.  
He was never good at attacking with anything other than words.  
He never told anyone his Patronus has a shape.  
He's still an occlumens.  
And unforgivable’s don't come out of his wand no matter how they force him.

That's not good among the dark.

He looks at the bruise on his cheek in the mirror.  
Lifts his hands to explore the circles his aunt’s bounds bore on his skin.

And thinks of Her.

What she must feel like seeing them?

Pansy tells him She will be his only hope.  
He barely listens.

And in the end of July he stands,  
head high,  
as the Dark Lord himself burns the mark on his arm.

He thinks of Her.

His soulmate  
A mudblood...  
With a Dark Mark on her arm.

He can imagine the disappointment, and the horror in her features.

He wants to scream.

But no.

This isn't for him!

His mother meets his eyes across the room.

Once he would have hoped for pride.  
Now he sees only sorrow.

But...

She's safe, for now.

And so is Hermione Granger.

.  
.  
.

It's hard and cold and morbid.

Lonely and bleak and numb.

Forlorn and constant.

And he has no idea how to stop it.

How to quit acting like they expect him to?

He has a mission to kill Dumbledore.  
And he hates himself for trying.

Hates the cursed necklace in his hand.  
And the bottle of poison in his trunk.

Hates the way guilt eats him up inside.  
And the way his mark burns his skin constantly.

Hates not knowing if she knows it's him.  
If she hates him for the mark on her arm.

Hates the idea she’ll never know he did it for her.  
To keep her safe.

Hates what he's doing.  
And hates her for existing.  
Hates her for hating him.

When he doesn't know where to put all the hate, he takes it upon himself.  
Severs the ugly tattoo on his hand with his silver knife.  
Watches as blood draws lines on it.  
Partly for the physical pain, that takes a way some of the suffering in his soul.  
And partly to leave a mark on her.  
An imprint that's not Voldemort’s...

It feels wrong that her most visible mark of him is the brand of the Dark Lord.  
Feels like something of his is claimed by someone else.

She’s chosen for him,  
Made for him.  
The only scars, that should mark her, should be his!

Maybe it's sick.

Nowadays he doesn't care.

Doesn't care when she confronts him in the room of requirement.  
Doesn't care when he flees the school after Dumbledore is dead.

He's keeping them safe like he promised himself he would.

But he can't keep her safe.  
Not from herself.  
And her Gryffindor tendencies.  
And her desperate need to prove herself.

On Seventh year She goes where he can't follow.  
And he's left at Hogwarts to do the dirty work.

Pansy talks him out of it though.  
Pansy  
And Daphne  
And finally Blaise and Theo.

It's not big and brave like Neville Longbottom and Weaslette.  
It's not outright and flashy.  
It's not a takeover,  
But it's a rebellion of their own.

It's small steps out of the darkness.  
It's whispered warnings and wands pointed in another direction.  
It's learning to stupefy wordlessly before you have to torture.  
It's teaching eachother defense rather than offence.  
It's avoiding the Carrows and staying in their common room as much as possible.  
It's sneaking Pansy information she can take to Longbottom.

It's not a bang.  
Barely a whimper.

But better than nothing.

.  
.  
.

He'll never forget the look on her face when she's brought in.  
Never forget the ice-cold desperation that almost paralyzes him.

He almost tells outright that Of course it's Potter!  
Just to punish them for getting caught like idiots.

He could never keep her safe.  
Not when she herself had a death wish.

He doesn't even have time to think of a plan to proceed before she's on the floor of their drawing-room.  
Doesn't have time to react before he has to stand by and pretend he doesn't feel his aunt’s curses.  
Pretend they don't feel like he's burning up.  
Not for pain.  
But for anguish  
For remorse  
For despair  
For terror

She’ll never give in.  
And Bellatrix will kill her.  
And he has to watch, unable to interfere.

When the knife contacts her skin,  
He thinks he's going to die.

He can't even feel his body anymore.  
And all he can see is the blood of the girl.

The girl he hated  
And yarned  
His soulmate...

If she died, what would be left of him?  
If he let her die like this, was he worth living himself?

On his arm, the marks began to appear on top of his Dark Mark.

How is he supposed to hide scars like that?

He isn't...

This is it.  
The end of the world.

”Draco?” His mother asks beside him.

She knows something is wrong.  
She always knew.

He looks at her.  
And turns his hand only slightly.  
Enough for her to see the marks emerging on him.

The way realization comes to Narcissa Malfoy, looks like clarity.  
Like she knew it all along.  
Like this was just the confirmation.

She nods, ”You should go Draco.”

He knows what it means. And she knows he's going to argue.

”I’m the past dear.” she whispers and maneuvers slightly towards the girl on the floor, ”She’ll be the future.”

That's all he needs.

The chandelier falls.  
And he snatches her from under it.  
Takes a hold of the hem of Dobby’s clothing.

Leaves behind everything he ever knew.

.  
.  
.

Somehow they don't kill him on the spot.  
Somehow they let her to him.

And she's alive.  
Little shaken  
But not broken.  
Bellatrix never won.

She offers him sanctuary.  
And even though it's cowardly, he takes it.  
Because that's the only out he sees, that might end up them both alive.

Might...

She's still going to war.

It's her, who kisses him before they part.  
Her who leans in.

Under his touch she feels like glass,  
And iron.  
Fragile and unbreakable.

Tastes like honey and ash.  
Like hope and fear.

Smells like summer air and winter rain.  
Like life and death.

Like light and darkness.  
And the shadows in between.  
The shadows he belongs to.

She belongs to.

Because she is made for him.

He might not understand it yet.  
But there are no mistakes in magic.  
Are there?

.  
.  
.

The house of her parents is large and beautiful.  
And the suburb is quiet and serene.

He stands in the hall and it's almost like the walls still echo the happiness that once lived here.  
She has left their stuff untouched.

Hidden from passersby, but there for him to see.

There's muggle money on the top drawer, she’d told him.  
He takes the money,  
And leaves the wand,  
Her wand,  
There.

There's a whole new life for him to take on.

He finds her mother's cookbooks.  
Messes the money horribly in the grocery store.  
Gets laughed at by the shop assistant  
And starts to speak French in awkward situations.  
Like he isn't from here.

It helps a little.

Muggle life doesn't come naturally.  
But he doesn't get the wand from the drawer.  
No matter how the thought appeals to him.

He finds her family photo albums.  
Drowns into her history.  
Stares at the stories the unmoving photographs weave in front of him.

There's a girl  
An only child.  
A girl, brought up by two parents who loved her more than anything.  
Brought up in a home that had no shortage of money.  
A girl with pretty dresses and fine clothing.  
A girl traveling the capitals of Europe.  
And running barefoot on the beach somewhere tropical.

A girl with good life ahead of her.  
Even before she knew that life would be in magic.

Magic never made her privileged,  
she was it already.

She was never lower, before he...  
Before he entitled her as such.

Her life before Hogwarts wasn't really that different from his.  
She was never that different.

The thought kind of liberates him.

He finds her Hogwarts textbooks.  
And they tell him another story of her.

There are notes.  
Written with small letters by a quick hand.  
Mostly about the subject, but sometimes random thoughts too.  
And little doodles she had charmed to move.

One doodle yelling: mudblood! Over and over again.  
He thinks it might be him.

On the margin of her sixth-year potions book his eyes linger on her note:  
 _Equal_  
 _Partner_  
 _Lover_

His heart makes an uncomfortable clump.  
Was she thinking of him when she wrote that?

He learns to cook.  
It's not that different from potion making.

He finds her father's jogging sneakers and takes on the habit of running.

The aisles of the nearby grocery store become familiar.  
He stops using French.

In the nights he wakes up in nightmares.  
And lays awake feeling the walls closing in.

It's not so much the adaptation to this new way of living that makes him feel so controversial.  
But the way it has made him question everything he was ever told.

And the loneliness.

No one to talk about his thoughts.  
No one to validate anything he's feeling.  
No one to question him.  
Or explain.  
Or even listen.

And then there is the guilt of leaving everyone behind.  
His parents  
And his friends.  
How are they surviving war?  
Surviving, when he escaped.

After weeks of his internal battle there's only one thing he knows for sure:  
Magic made no mistake making her his soulmate.

It's not some twist of fate  
Or an accident  
Or random.

.  
.  
.

By what should have been the end of their seventh year,  
She comes home from the war.  
And he's waiting on the porch.  
Watching as she crosses the yard.

He’s not sure what it is, but in his eyes she looks different than ever before.

She left as a warrior  
Today she comes home as a victor.

She stops to stand a few feet ahead of him.

”We won.”

He nods, ”Figures.”

There's a pause

Longer than necessary.

Like she's calculating him.

He wants to kiss her.  
Isn't sure where this sudden urge comes from.  
And is sure, it sure as hell wouldn't be the right move.

But in the spring sun she looks alive.  
Fierce  
And beautiful

He never knew he wanted her.  
Today he does.

But it's still too soon.

”Do you know what happened to my parents? My mother?” He asks instead.

She nods, ”Your mother, she's fine. There's probably going to be a trial. But Draco...”

There's a pause that makes him almost dread the words she tries to find.

”Your mother saved us all for you.”

He hears the whole story later. Today it's enough she’s still alive.

Mother is alive  
And the girl in front of him is alive.  
Maybe it means he kind of succeeded.

”Do you want tea?” He asks her.

And it's funny really, because this is her house.  
He's inviting her to have tea in her house, in her own kitchen.

But she comes in.  
And sits beside kitchen table watching him boil water.

”Where’s your wand?”

He turns to her, ”I’ve no idea. Potter took it the day I followed you.”

She rolls her eyes, ”The wand I gave you?!”

He turns back to the stove, ”In the top drawer.”

She doesn't say a word, but he feels her eyes on her back.

”Where do you want this then?”

There's a wand in between her fingers.

10”  
Hawthorn  
Unicorn hair

A thousand memories fill his mind.  
Most of which he could well live without.  
Did having that wand ever really do him any good?

He just shrugs at her.

She gets up and goes to the dresser  
Sets the Hawthorn next to her Vine, in the top drawer.

Let them rest for a while.  
There’ll be a time to let magic flow again.

”What have you been up to?” she asks returning to the table.

The talk they need to have will wait for a better day.

.  
.  
.

In the first night of her back he wakes up to her scream.

It's an instinct, nothing more, when he rushes to her room.  
She's sitting on the bed, staring at the dark wall, breathing heavily.

”It was just a dream.” he tells her quietly.

But she shakes her head, ”The war doesn't really end when the battles die down, does it?”

He shakes his head.

Her eyes glister as she looks at him,”I don't want to be alone.”

He only nods.  
Because he hates it too.  
The cold sheets and the shadows on the walls.  
The creatures of darkness that creep in those shadows, edging ever closer.  
He knows them better than anything.  
And he understands her creatures are more alive tonight than his.  
He has already had time to tame them.  
If only just a little.

Hers have just begun to dance with the ghosts of war.

So she makes room for him.  
He lays down next to her.  
In her bed.

And the way his hand fits into the curve of her hip,  
The way she presses her head against his chest,

Almost feels right.  
Almost like belonging.

In the morning he makes his way downstairs.  
She's standing in the kitchen, turning around as he enters.

Giving him a soft smile.

He sits beside the table, ”So Granger what have you been up to?”

She gives him a cup of coffee and sits down across from him.

The morning light touches her hair,  
and fills the kitchen with sunbeams.

The spring morning sun  
The ticking of the kitchen clock  
The smell of fresh coffee  
Her hazel eyes on his

Almost feel like a beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't promise more for sure.  
> Won't say this is all there is either.
> 
> Thank you for reading. ❤️  
> All the kudos and comments much appreciated!


	4. Change/Neville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the worst moments he feels like there's no one in the world who'd put him first.  
> Or even second.  
> Or even somewhere in their list of priorities...
> 
> Sometimes he wishes for the kind and caring.

* * *

  
His mother and father sit beside the table across from him.  
Mother is staring at the far wall. Father is holding her hand.  
Neither of them really pay him any attention.  
But the entwined hands give him all the hope he needs.

In their insanity, at least they're not alone.

His new wand is on the table between them.  
A wand that never did great things in someone else’s hand.  
A wand that never belonged to anyone but him.  
A wand that makes him feel almost like a different person.

But the fact that this wand is here means that the wand with his father's magical legacy is gone.

”I’m sorry” he tells them.

Even though he's not sure he is.

He leaves the ward, his heart heavier than it was as he entered.  
He hoped it would have been the other way around.

All his life he felt like there was a mold made for him and he just could not fit into it.  
A mold the shape of his father.

He’d heard his parents were two kind and caring individuals.  
After them there was nothing kind and caring left in his life.

Sometimes he catches himself, feeling envious towards the other pureblood kids.  
Because at least from afar it seems that for everyone else being the heir makes them worth something.  
Even Grabbe and Goyle get their backs padded by their fathers and smiles from their mothers as they exit the train before the holiday.

All he gets is, ”Oh dear Neville, what happened to your shirt?” or ”Oh dear, let me fix that for you.” or ”Oh dear, you nearly died, now I'm so proud of you! Until you trip in the hallway again and make me remember what a looser I have to take care of.”

Well, she doesn't actually say all those words, but he hears them anyway.

Not that he actually wants Death Eaters as parents. But he'd like someone to look at him and see something more than a failure.  
Someone to think he's worth more than the occasional bursts of heroism.

But after every year, as he comes home, he finds his plants in the garden dead.  
No one values him and his strengths even enough to keep those few weeds alive for him.

Nan is not kind or caring. She's strict and still bitter that her only son was taken away so brutally. He knows it's the tragedy of her life.  
But now, being old enough he also understands it's not really fair to take it upon him.

He loves her, yes.  
And She's the only family he has left.

In the worst moments he feels like there's no one in the world who'd put him first.  
Or even second.  
Or even somewhere in their list of priorities...

Sometimes he wishes for the kind and caring.

Or even someone who on his side!  
Someone to take his hand and tell him they're with him.  
Someone to stand next to him and share what life has to offer.  
Someone to put their hands around him and tell him he's not alone.

Someone to look like Harry looks Ginny across the room.

He gazes at the light, barely visible, scar around his index finger.  
He never knew where that scar had come from.

Once he'd seen a text Hermione was reading about soul scars.  
And for a brief glorious moment he had been almost sure the scar on his finger meant there might be a soulmate waiting for him.

But no.

Of course not.

Nan had told him not to be silly. Soul scars were so rare she stated it might altogether be nothing but a myth.  
Besides it's known soulmates exist to make sure magical blood stays strong. Even if such thing existed, magic would never choose him.

There was nothing exceptional about him.

.  
.  
.

Voldemort rises again.  
Like a dark veil laid over their lives, the dread returns.

After being tortured by Bellatrix in the department of mysteries, he looks his father in the eyes.  
First time in years  
And sees himself.

There, in the middle of action,  
there was nothing he wouldn't have done for them.

For Harry  
And Luna  
And Ginny  
And Ron  
And Hermione

If it would have demanded his life, he would have given it.  
And never regretted.

They were worth all that.  
Only now does he understand how it feels.  
To be responsible.  
To be in war.  
And on the battlefield.

With people he loves.

Only now does he really understand his parents did not leave him when they sacrificed themselves.

They gave him life.

A world to grow up in.

And now it was up to him to protect that world!  
Up to him to finish what they started.

”I will kill her, ” He tells to the man in front of him, ”I’ll make sure she never tortures anyone ever again!”

Frank just looks at him silently.  
The same absent look in his face.

But after a while of silence his mum turns to him from the other end of the room.

”That’s right dear.” She whispers.

Just a breath.  
But still a sentence.

He rushes up and to her. But when he takes a hold of her shoulder she's back to looking at the wall humming silently.

He dreams of them in the night before the start of his sixth year.  
His mum and dad getting him ready for battle.

And when he wakes up, he knows things will be different.

.  
.  
.

Most of sixth year he spends in the greenhouses.  
Learning more than ever before.

Under his hands brown leaves turn back to green.  
In front of his eyes rare flowers start to bloom.  
The leaves breathe in life, like they had lungs.  
And he loves the way the soil feels in his fingers.

It's good to be good in something!  
Good to feel like he knows something!  
Like he has the answers.

In the mirror he even looks different.  
Like suddenly he’s alive.  
Aware.  
And able.

He was never able before.

Suddenly the spells he performs start to do what they're supposed to.  
Suddenly his wand feels like it's part of him.  
Suddenly he knows there is power in him.  
More than he realized.  
More than an almost squip he thought he was.

He smiles at Luna on the corridor.  
She's quite pretty.

Unique, yes.  
And sometimes it was damn hard to follow her train of thought.  
But maybe...

Luna returns his smile.  
But before he can open his mouth she says, “Oh Neville, it's not me you're looking for”

And then she skips away, white hair flowing.

He has no idea what she's about.

But doesn't think of her as anything more than a good friend ever again.

.  
.  
.

He remembers the first time he met Pansy Parkinson.  
Surprisingly clearly, actually.

They were ten.  
It was some ministry event that he usually didn't have permission to attend. But since it had been found out he was not a Squip Afterall, Nan had allowed him with her and uncle Algie.

He doesn’t know why, but there’s something about Pansy that night that makes makes him unable to stop watching.  
He’s only ten, so it’s innocent of course. But even at ten he can see there’s beauty in her.  
Not in a princessy way most girls at that age.  
But in a dark, mysterious way.  
And there’s something almost admirable in a way she interracts with people around her.  
The pureblood boys, Malfoy, Nott and Zabini follow her like a band of good puppies.

Once she catches his eye across the room.  
As their eyes meet she smiles slightly.  
His preteen heart seems to do an extra leap and he tries to smile back.  
Tripping to his feet in the process.  
When he gets up she’s suddenly there.  
”Are you okey?”

She doesn't look worried.  
But not mocking either.  
Her eyes are big and brown

He only nods.  
And she just leaves.  
Walks away like nothing happened.  
But the encounter leaves a weird feeling in his chest.  
Like an ache for something he can’t put name to.

He scratches the scar on his index finger watching her go.

But she's just a pureblood girl.  
And they're only ten.  
So he doesn't think about the whole encounter after a few days.

.  
.  
.

The second time he meets Pansy Parkinson,  
the real Pansy Parkinson.

Not the one who has walked the same corridors and called him and his friends names.

But his soulmate Pansy Parkinson.

Is when she ambushes him and shoves him into the nearest broom closet.

He's faster  
And braver  
And more sure of himself.

She can't intimidate him!

It takes a while for him to understand she's not there to intimidate him at all.

When she lifts the glamour on her face. And he's staring at the very same gash that he just decided not to heal, on her. It's like he can't feel his arms and legs for a while.

It can't be true.  
Is this some joke she's playing on him?

She's there.  
Another eyebrow up, looking at him with a ghost of a smirk on her face.

It can't be true!

She's...  
A Slytherin to start with.

She's proud  
And collected  
And dark  
And...  
Lovely.  
Not like flowers in June  
But like the first frost in November morning.  
Cold and deadly  
But harmonious and glistening in the sun.

She's so much of what he is not.  
So how could she be the one meant for him?

She heals the scars on his face.  
And he looks at her as she does it.

Studies the way her eyes move with her wand.  
The way she bites her lip when she concentrates and smirks approvingly after she's done.

Her eyes are dark and serious.  
And everything about her radiates confidence.

He’d never even dare to dream about her.  
Never would have given himself a promise to even fantasize about having a girl like her.  
Never dare to look at her longingly.

Girls like her didn't even play games with boys like him.

She could push him in a broom closet and taunt him.  
But not tell him he was exceptional.  
Not tell him he was somehow the piece she was missing.

After healing his scars she walks away like she did when they were ten.  
And all evening he's sitting in the common room, staring at the fire.  
Unable to form one coherent thought.  
Unable to get the image of her out of his head.  
Unable to understand what's really going on and how is he supposed to take it.

He came here, ready for rebellion and evidently even war.  
But not for this.

He came here, ready to protect his friends.  
The people he loved.  
He has no idea how to protect her, too.  
She's there, behind the enemy lines, where he has no access to.

Did she even want him to protect her? She never seemed like needing a hero-kind of a girl.  
What side of the war she even was if it came to that?

His mind goes to the weird nameless letters.  
Somehow it kind of made sense if she'd sent them.  
Should he ask her?

She didn't tell him how she wanted things to go from here.  
Should he try and ask her that too?  
Or should he assume she didn't want anything to do with him?

He has absolutely zero experience with girls! Especially girls like her!

He's such a looser! How can he be her soulmate!?  
He doesn't even know how to talk to her!

He nearly asks Ginny the next morning in the breakfast table.  
The question is already there, in the tip of his tongue, when he briefly glances at the Slytherin table.  
Pansy catches his eye and winks.

And it's like everything in his head goes into mush.  
The heat rises to his cheeks and suddenly he has no idea what he was going to ask Ginny.

.  
.  
.

Pansy Parkinson might be many things.  
Not all of them pleasant.  
Most of them at least a little disturbing.

But she's his.

Nothing was ever his before.  
Nothing but the plants and the flowers he left to die in his Grandmother’s yard.  
And Trevor... Guess it was a little disturbing too.

Not that he's comparing Pansy to a toad!  
Definitely not!

No one was ever his before.  
His person.

All his life he had been the extra.  
Even now with friends around him.  
No one was ever primarily his.

Until she had told him she was.  
And Merlin forbid him if he didn't take care of her!

She doesn't want him to.  
She tells him after an incident with Crabbe.

But when he had entered the room the same moment cruciatus hit her, there was no room for consideration in his mind.

He’d never felt such rage in his life.  
Or such terror.  
Nothing he had gone through compared to the feeling of watching his soulmate screaming because of the same curse that had taken his parents away from him.  
Nothing he had ever been hit with felt like Crabbe’s crucio on her.  
Nothing had ever felt so purely hate-driven as the stunner he cast at the Slytherin.

For a long time he had thought hate didn't exist in his set of emotions.  
Even when he wanted to hate, his stupid soft mind always tried to make excuses.

But the spell that struck Crabbe down could have easily been anything worse.  
Could have done so much more damage.  
Could have gotten him in much worse trouble.

He never kept himself powerful.  
But at that moment,  
in hate-driven rage,  
he felt the power of his magic.  
Felt it stir in his chest.  
Like something bright and growing, willing to be let out.  
Like something just there for him to take.

He dwells in that feeling even after Pansy tells him to get out of there.  
For a moment he’d wanted to tell her that let the Carrows come.  
Let them find them there.  
Let them try to hurt her.  
And he’ll unleash the power he’s just found.  
He'll show them what happens to people who try to hurt something belonging to him!

The violence in his mind shocks him a little.  
The radiating urge to fight.  
To aim.  
To dominate.  
To see fear in their hateful eyes.  
They're all foreign to him.

But somehow they feel igniting.  
Sending adrenaline to pump in his veins.  
Making magic tingle in his fingertips.

Suddenly “exceptionally powerful” doesn't feel so far-fetched anymore.

But the feeling fades and by the time he's standing face to face with her,  
He’s himself again.

She tells him she doesn't need him to save her.

He knows that!

She demands him not to get himself in more trouble because of her.

Well, that's impossible!

He doesn't remember moving but suddenly he's surrounded by her flowery scent.

His mind twirls as she touches him.  
Somewhere on the edges of his consciousness, he knows she's using her playing tactics on him.

The way her hand takes his and brings him to touch her skin, makes him forget how to breathe.

But as she stares into his eyes and sucks his finger between her lips, he snaps out of it.

No!

He's not one of those men she can play like that!  
He's not one of those thinking her actions make them in control!  
He's not some pureblood elitist who thinks women are only good for one thing.  
He's not going to just fall into that and let her laugh about it afterward.

Being her soulmate  
Doesn't mean he can be used and then laughed at.

Because he still doesn't know what she could possibly see in him.  
What does she think he can give her?  
What in the world would he have to offer to a girl who lives in a mansion already?!  
To a girl who has suitors lined behind her door!?

She smiles at him.

She's... Exquisite.

It's so difficult to believe she’d really want him.

But she kisses him.  
Yanks him to her and lands their lips together.

He's frozen!  
Doesn't know what to do!  
Where to put his hands?  
How to position his lips?

What if she doesn't like kissing him?!  
How can they be soulmates if kissing him repulses her!?

Her soft, full lips move on his.

He hopes he'd asked someone, maybe Ron, advice how to do this.

“You’re thinking too much.” she whispers against his lips.

Her vocals send shivers through him.

He wishes he'd prepared better.

“Neville...” she humms against the skin of his throat, “let go.”

He doesn't know what she means.  
Let go of her?  
Of What!?  
Her lips are close to his ear,  
He kind of wants to scream and turn away and run!

“I don't know what I'm supposed to...” his voice wobbles a little.

“You do, ” she nibs his earlobe.

He doesn't think he knows how to breathe.

She's going to kill him!  
Right then and there, with the share power of her seduction!

He closes his eyes and lifts his hand to her shoulder to move her away.  
He's not ready for this!

He...

He can't do this!

Her breath is on his cheek, “let go!”

There's order in her voice.  
He knows she doesn't mean let go of her,  
but let go of what's holding him back.  
And then her lips are back on his.

She's his soulmate.

If anyone could kiss her, it should be him.

“Come on courage” she bites his lower lip, “Please.”

Something in his head snaps.  
Like she had uttered a magic word.  
The golden gleaming in his chest stirs, like looking for the power it knows is there.

He pushes his hand to her hair.  
Moves his lips with hers.

And suddenly the magic in his chest roars.  
Like only now realizing he has found her.

Let go

Let go

Please

It's like releasing the strings of control, held back by his uncertainty.

He adds pressure  
She sighs against his lips

The remaining strings snap.  
He pushes her against the wall.

She gasps.

And then he's the one in control.

He is kissing her.  
His hand in her hair and another on her hip.

He is making out with her against the wall in a hidden alcove.

And knows exactly how to.  
Like a soulmate

His hands and lips on her as if they belonged there.  
Like her partner

No sign of uncertainty or inexperience  
Like they're equal

She exhales his name as his lips trace down her neck.  
Like a lover

And they fit perfectly.

.  
.  
.

Pansy heals his face again with fire in her eyes.

She doesn't say a word.  
But the air around them radiates her subdued anger.

He had just told her he can't be seen at school anymore.

Her wand hand is shaking.  
Only barely,  
But he sees it anyway.

As her healing charms take effect, he watches the scars on her face fade too.

He takes her hand.

“It’s fine.”

“The fuck it is!” She snaps.

“Pansy...”

“No! This shouldn't be happening! Aren't there adults on the light side? Isn't anyone interested in your well being?!”

Somehow her fierce anger warms his insides.

“They have better things to do.”

“Bullshit! All of the so-called good teachers here, McGonagal and Sprout and Flitwick? Shouldn't protecting students be their first priority!?”

He shrugs, “Maybe I'm not the easiest to protect.”

“That’s no fucking excuse!”

He shrugs again, “For now it's better if I stay hiding.”

They had gone through it already.  
It was better he went into hiding and she wouldn't visit.  
Getting caught would probably get both of them killed or something.

Truth be told, he did not want to let her go.  
He’d just found her and now he had to leave her on her own.

Not that he had any doubt she’d do fine.

But he felt hollow when she was far away.  
Like she carried the pieces he missed.  
Like her presence sew him together and made him the man, the wizard, he was supposed to be.

He wanted to ask if it did the same for her.  
But didn't dare to.

“Are you going to be okay?”

He searches her eyes for confirmation.  
They are shiny and deep and determined.  
Like always.

She gives him a crooked, sad smile.

“I’m a daughter of a Death Eater, what's to worry about?”

“If they find out?”

What would her housemates, the other sons and daughters of death eaters, say if they knew her secret?

She shakes her head.  
Tells him her classmates are on her side.  
Informs him that half of the information she has sneaked to him past few weeks come from someone else than her.

He's not sure what it means to be on her side.  
But by now he's quite positive it’s not the same side as the Dark Lord.

That makes the information more than a little controversial.

Zabini and Nott have behaved differently whole year. And Greengrass he never thought was from a dark family to begin with. But then there's Malfoy.

He’s almost sure Malfoy has the mark.  
So how can she tell him with wide eyes that she trusts him?  
Malfoy, who didn't even come back after easter?

He doesn't want to tell her she's wrong to count on him.  
But if she trusts Malfoy, how can he trust her?  
How can he tell her anything if she's going to tell everything forward?  
He doesn't want to hurt her.  
But she shouldn't trust him.

She sighs.

“Neville. Draco is not the problem.”

It's Malfoy they're talking about!?  
When has he not been a problem?!

This he tells to Pansy.  
She rolls her eyes.

“Fucking fine! But you don't ever tell anyone you know!”

He eyes her suspiciously and she huffs dramatically.

“Draco is Granger's soulmate.”

Right, that's a funny joke.

But she doesn't look like she's joking.  
She watches the information sink into him.

Him and Pansy being soulmates is...  
As unlikely as it is, it still kind of makes sense.

They're pureblood  
Old lines of magical inheritance  
Magic, passed on for centuries

It's kind of rational for old magic like theirs to make sure the line stays strong.

But Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

They're like the symbols of this war.

A pureblood and a muggle-born

A Death Eater and A warrior of light

Someone born into magic and another making her way in it.

Hades and Persephone...

They represent everything this war is about.  
Everything that will still weight their world down after the war will be over.  
Even if their side won.

Him and Pansy will not have it easy.  
But it's nothing compared to what Hermione and Draco will have to face.

.  
.  
.

For her.

He slashes forward.

Throws a stunner across his shoulder.

Casts a protego ahead

He'll win this war!  
He'll do everything in his power to make sure of it.

And then He’ll get her and keep her!  
He'll never leave her behind again!

She's his!  
And he will give her the world!

Adrenaline speeds through his veins.  
Humms in his ears.

Zabini and Nott stay beside him as they hold the Death Eaters back.

He doesn't know if they chose to be there or if she sent them.  
If she told them to stay next to him.

But they do.  
And he's kind of glad for it.  
It's nice to have brothers in arms.  
Even if they're Slytherin  
And probably fighting against their families.

But they're fast and powerful and efficient.  
He fights beside them gladly.

The war ends with a bang.

And in the end Harry is alive and Voldemort is dead.

Bellatrix is dead too.  
Not by his hand but it doesn't bother him.

He doesn't even realize the snake bit him before Blaise points out the bite mark looks quite nasty.

He's alive  
When so many others are dead.  
When so many who deserved to be alive are now dead.

Like Colin and Fred and Lupin and Tonks...

He feels like he's suffocating.

So instead of staying in the great hall, where people cry and laugh at the same time, he follows the Slytherins down to dungeons.

He doesn't realize she's really there, before she's in his arms.  
Before the scent of her replaces the smell of blood and death.  
Before her delicate hands are around her neck.  
And her lips breathing down his neck.  
Her heartbeat against his chest.

He breathes her in.  
Holds her to him.  
And knows he's found a home.

There's nothing in this world that would keep him from her if she wants him to stay.

He never had anyone.  
Neither did she.

Now they had each other.

He stays in the Slytherin dorms with them.  
Tries to help them make up a plan.  
Where do children of Death Eaters go after fighting against their families in a war?

They have no idea.  
And he has nowhere to tell them.  
So for now they stay there.  
At least for tonight.

Pansy leads him to her dorm.  
Into her bathroom.  
Into her shower.

Helps him wash away the blood and dust.  
Heals the cuts and bruises on him.  
Travels her fingers along his scars and kisses his wet lips.

The kind and the caring.  
He never thought he'd find them in her.

“I’m still mad at you for not letting me fight.” she tells him as they finally lay on her bed, legs tangled, facing each other.

He has never shared a bed with a girl.  
Or fought a war.  
Or killed a giant snake...  
Yet here he is.

“I never forbid you.”

“Told me not to. And I believed.” she strokes his hair.

“Bet that was the first.” He closes his eyes.

She huff's amused.

They stay there for a while.  
He thinks he has never felt this content in his life.

“What happens now?” she asks her tone back to serious.

He opens his eyes, “what would you like?”

“I want to go home. I want to tell mother I'm leaving and then watch it sink in.”

She thinks for a while and then tells him she wants a career in fashion.  
She wants to visualize and create.

“I never dared to dream I could have it.” she whispers.

And that there was the reason he had fought in this war.  
So that everyone could dare to dream whatever they wanted.  
No matter the background.

So that the future his parents wanted for him would finally be real.  
So that no one would feel like their label defined them.  
So that any kid would have a chance.  
So that no one would have to fear.  
So that magical world would be free.

“You can now, ” he tells her, “We’re free!”

She laughs, “I don't even know what that means!”

Neither does he.

So maybe it’s about time they found out!

.  
.  
.

It's mid-August when they knock at their door.

Hermione opens.

He blinks.  
Beside him, Pansy seems to be baffled silent too.

He's never seen Hermione like this.

Her hair is open.  
Wild curls, lighten by sun spread around her head.  
Her eyes bright and her skin tanned.

She’s wearing a summer dress.  
Blue and air-light, with short sleeves.

There are lines of old scars crisscrossing her arms.  
Barely visible circles around her wrists

Briefly he wonders why she hasn't bothered to heal them.

“Jeez Granger! What's happened to you?” Pansy finally finds her voice.

She hugs him and gives Pansy a warm smile.  
And then she leads them to the back yard.

There are times when he knows he's dreaming before he wakes up.  
He's actually quite good at realizing a dream while still having it.  
But the scene that unfolds when they enter the patio is odder his mind will ever be able to conjure.

There's Draco Malfoy.  
The aristocratic pompous brat, who wears only black robes and has servants to cook his meals,  
Standing beside the barbecue flipping steaks the muggle way.

He's wearing chinos and a white cotton shirt.  
His sleeves are rolled up and his hair...  
The hair they used to make fun in the Gryffindor dorm, sleaking their own with water,  
It's now overgrown and messy.  
Like someone had just ruffled if.

Truth be told, he looks like a muggle.

He keeps staring at the scene as Hermione starts to make the table.

A muggle couple preparing a barbecue for their friends.

Not like too people who just fought a war.  
Gave up everything they knew.  
Lost so many loved ones.  
And are just beginning to know one another.  
And fight the differences and bias between them.  
Not like two people needing to rebuild their mindset for each other.

But like soulmates?  
Yes.

He hopes him and Pansy look as ease around each other as they do.

They end up having a lovely evening.

Yes, Draco is still snarky and sharp.  
Hermione is still prone to lecture.  
Pansy’s still bitchy.  
And he's still a little unsure.

But there's lightness in their conversation.  
Softness that makes banter almost friendly.  
There's will to understand and to get along.  
Will to make it work.

Draco and Hermione sit beside each other.  
They might think him and Pansy don't notice the glances they exchange but he does.  
And the way their hands brush when they walk past each other.  
Malfoy’s eyes follow her as she crosses the yard.

There's something there.

Something that goes beyond the past.  
Beyond prejudices.  
Beyond hurtful words and hateful stares.  
Beyond schoolyard bullying  
Beyond inheritance  
Beyond upbringing  
And ideas

Something that dives into the passion to know things  
The will to understand  
To master  
To find out  
And to create.  
Into the pools of brightness and wit  
To drive and determination  
And devotion

Now that he looks at them beside each other, they don't seem so different.

Draco pours wine into her glass  
She smiles up to him.

“Wild isn't it?” Pansy whispers into his ear.

He turns to look at her, looking at them.

“What is?”

Pansy smiles, “How one word and a few faint lines on your body can change everything?”

“One word?”

She takes his hand and rests her head against his shoulder.  
And even though she has been there for months, his heart still speeds up.

“Soulmate.” she whispers, smile still on her voice.

He kisses her forehead and turns back to the other couple.

Maybe for him and Pansy it's a few faint lines.

But for those two in front of them, now looking at each other like there's nothing else in the world...

Those two who probably still have mountains to climb to each other.  
Those two who will have to defend their judgment in every front.  
Those who used to hate everything the other was about.

No word can change them.  
Not even as strong as ‘Soulmate’

No.

The change happens elsewhere.  
The change happens in the cracks that word leaves to you.  
In the seeds of curiosity, doubt, hope and fate it plants to your mind.  
The change happens when you look at the person you thought was nothing like you  
And see yourself.  
The change happens when you stop doubting and start having faith in your magic.  
The change happens if you let it...

And as for the lines,

The scars,

The maps on their bodies that guided them to each other.

Those that magic created to draw them together.

He watches Draco take Hermione’s hand in the darkening autumn evening.

And thinks that maybe magic planned something bigger after all.

Because the scars on their hands look more than just hints about a soulmate.  
More than maps to each other.  
More than reminders of companionship.

Their scars together are a brand.  
A symbol,  
And a declaration.

Their scars are the beginning of a new era.  
Not just for the two of them, but for everyone like them.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger

A Death Eater and The muggleborn Golden Girl

Carrying symbols of peace.

Scars, the shape of a skull and a snake overwritten with a word MUDBLOOD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there be more?  
> Possibly...
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤️


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